


L'ombra della luce

by tallestgirlonearth



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallestgirlonearth/pseuds/tallestgirlonearth
Summary: Difendimi dalle forze contrarieLa notte nel sonno quando non sono coscienteQuando il mio percorso si fa incertoE non abbandonarmi maiNon mi abbandonare maiMartín, on a quiet night in Palermo. Andrés, 2.850 kilometres away in the Fabrica Nacional de Moneda y Timbre. And everything that led them there.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent about two weeks reading every Berlermo fanfiction I could find, and listened to a lot of sad music on the side - that's how the idea for this was born.  
> The lyrics are from "L'ombra della luce" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8jo7DBxaos) by Franco Battiato, who reminds me a lot of Pedro Alonso in the sense that he's a modern Renaissance man and has done about a million different things in his life. Also, Battiato is a real poet, and some of his lyrics are so philosophical and deep they're reaaaally far out there. This song however is comparatively straightforward but has touched me in a lot of ways (read: it makes me cry way too often), ever since I first discovered it about a year ago. My Italian isn't brilliant, but the line "e non abbandonarmi mai" stood out immediately. Can you imagine Martín's voice as he says this. 'Cause I know I can. 
> 
> Anyway. This is supposed to be three chapters long, and I've got most of it fleshed out already. I'm a bit anxious because the standard of writing in this fandom is crazy high, but I hope you'll enjoy my humble contribution :)

_Difendimi dalle forze contrarie  
La notte nel sonno quando non sono cosciente  
Quando il mio percorso si fa incerto_

__

__

_E non abbandonarmi mai  
Non mi abbandonare mai _

For Martín, life can be separated in Before and After Andrés.

Before, that’s all his youth and early adulthood, years defined almost exclusively by the misery of an unhappy childhood and afterwards an uncertain future in a country fresh out of dictatorship and in the throes of chronic inflation. His mother does her level best to love him and to cancel out the angry rants by his father, but it’s never enough. The man is constantly angered by Martín’s lack of machismo and his brightness of mind, an intelligence he could never hope to match. When his mother dies, just shortly before his graduation, Martín actually feels his grief being followed by such _relief,_ knowing there is nothing keeping him tethered to a home that never lived up to its name.

Unburdened, he enters university to study civil engineering, and finally finds something of a purpose. He’s always loved numbers, and the coursework is easy to him. Surrounded by likeminded people, he discovers a sense of kinship and a group of people he could even call friends, who don’t mind his ramblings about the construction of the Panama Canal and encourage him to go after cute guys in the bars around the Avenida Córdoba and all around the barrio of Palermo. Those nights were what he comes to live for, an outlet to get drunk and have some fun…after all he has to work hard in whatever menial job he can get to pay for university.

Nights blur into days blur into nights and much too soon graduation is over and the small group of friends go their ways. Martín finds employment at a construction company large enough to weather the economic storms, and there is nobody around to bully him because of his sexuality, so life isn’t too bad. He’s content. And yet… sometimes when he hits the bars alone because everybody else is busy going on dinner dates with their partners and reading bedtime stories to their children, when the combination of beer, _Amargo Obrero_ and _criollo_ music is too heady, the emptiness overcomes him again. It’s then he realises that he is free, independent…but where are the dreams, the optimism found in believing that _the best is yet to come_? Where is the wild joy, the rush of dopamine in his veins? Where is the peacefulness and sense of calm from having someone to share a life with?

It is on a night like this, that he meets Andrés. In late January the air is muggy and hot and no sea breeze finds its way through the maze of concrete, the thunderstorms and power outages are frequent. How fitting, Martín later thinks, that even the weather would reflect the dramatic change in his life that was to come. Outside it’s pouring down, but the warm, dimmed lights of the bars and soft music are beckoning. _Vuela El Pez_ is packed and he’s been sitting at the bar for hours, slightly drunk, watching the couples dance and swaying to the tango rhythm. Still, it’s as if there’s nobody else in there at all when he watches a burly man spill his drink all over some other man in fancy linen trousers and a button-down, and _he spots Mr. Dandy pick the pockets of the bumpkin while he assures him with a sharp-edged smile that it doesn’t matter._ Huh. The obvious reaction would be to call the man out, to alert the police or at least the barkeeper, but somehow Martín can’t bring himself to do so. Not when it was done so subtly.

They encounter each other face to face in the men’s room. There’s an unnatural stillness and Martín feels his skin crawl. He blames his tipsiness when the words leave his mouth – “So, do you always pick other people’s pockets to cover your tab?” The well-dressed stranger turns to him, assesses him not-too-subtly, and then…gives him a lopsided smile and answers. “No, only when said other people are rude and have ruined my clothes.” And Martín, who up to this point has been nothing but honest in his life, cannot help but grin back. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but it fits the man. “Are you going to tell the bartender and have me thrown out into his horrible weather?”, the stranger asks, still with some amusement, and Martín replies in the same fashion. “Somehow it doesn’t seem fair, after all you’ve already suffered the misfortune of a ruined outfit.” “Thank you for noticing. Apparently, you are be the only person in here with a modicum of taste – and a sense of rhythm too.” Martín blushes slightly, suddenly aware that the stranger must have spotted him from afar, swaying to the music and enjoying the moment.

This little exchange settles something, an unspoken possibility that seemingly hung in the air from the moment they acknowledged each other’s presence. The stranger enquires whether Martín is a local, introduces himself as Andrés and then invites him to his little corner table. They spend the remainder of the night there, talking about the quality of the drinks served and the music, the other patrons, the barrio, Buenos Aires as a whole, and before they both know, it’s closing time. Out on the pavement, Andrés asks Martín to show him some more of the city. _Who could be a better guide than a born-and-raised porteño, no?_ Intoxicated by a night of unexpectedly good company and intrigued by the man’s obvious sophistication, Martín says yes.

After that night, that’s when a different reckoning of time starts. After Andrés. True to his word, Andrés lets himself be dragged all around Buenos Aires to explore the sights as well as Martín’s own well-loved spots. Buenos Aires is big and they’re not done after one day, so they meet up again. And again. Every evening, when they part ways, Martín expects it to be the final goodbye, but the following day Andrés is there again, at his doorstep, with new ideas and demands. _Martín, where is the best place to eat empanadas? You must take me there, today”_ or _“How can you not know any of Borges’ writings? There’s a recital tonight, we’re going.”_ It’s a whirlwind of impressions and images, and slowly the incredulity that this ridiculously overdressed man has entered his life vanishes and is replaced by anticipation and even giddiness at the prospect of yet another day together. They never run out of conversation topics. At times, Martín gets carried away pointing out the interesting bits of the construction of the city of Buenos Aires. He sees the beauty of a gridiron, of solid foundations and interesting floor plans. Andrés lets him ramble on, and counters by waxing lyrical about the roses in the _Bosque de Palermo,_ or describing the ingenuity of _chiaroscuro_ to him when they walk through one of the many art museums. About two weeks into their friendship – Martín doesn’t dare call it that out loud, but it feels like it – they have collapsed onto the grass out at the _Reserva_ after yet another long day, and Andrés casually tells him that the night they met wasn’t the first time he stole something. Martín isn’t shocked. No one-time thief would have the skill Andrés demonstrated. His reaction is taken as encouragement and, ever the show-off, Andrés finally gives him a full curriculum vitae with, ahem, all professional stations included.

“So, you just decide to steal whenever you’ve seen something you like, or your bored?” Martín feels transported back to the men’s room at _Vuela El Pez_ and their conversation in the men’s room. “No, of course not! There is no ‘just’. It takes time, like creating a work of art takes time.” Martín snorts. “Well, you better take your time, those stores have insane levels of security. Disabling the security cameras might trip an alarm, and you should never enter anywhere without checking for infrared motion detection first. Which you don’t do by blowing chalk in the air, by the way…they always get that wrong in the movies…” Five minutes later, he has finished a quick and entirely unplanned lecture on civil security systems and Andrés is looking at him with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

Perhaps a month (or two) later, Andrés announced his return to Spain. Martín tries to tell himself that it was inevitable, but he can’t help but feel disappointed. Miserable, even, at the thought of going back to life Before Andrés. It must show on his face, because he is then presented with an envelope. An envelope containing a _plane ticket. To Spain. One-way._ “What? Andrés, I-” he presses out. “You said you’ve never left Buenos Aires. There is no better time like the now for a little traveling, no? After all we’ve been going on little adventures for weeks now, haven’t we? Just _think_ of all the art out there, Martín. Your kind of art, too! The old viaducts in Rome, the _ponte veccio_ in Florence, the _bosco_ _verticale_ in Milan… There is so much beauty out there, _cariño_.” That fond nickname Andrés has been using for the past weeks or so, that does it. It’s ridiculous and far too intimate, even from a man as passionate about life as Andrés. Martín says yes. He steps off the plane at Madrid-Bajaras a week later, having packed his old life up in a suitcase and with no intention to return to Argentina anytime soon.

What follows are ten years, ten wonderful years of travel, and also heists. Martín has become Andrés business associate – a natural development, after the first tale of a life of crime back in Buenos Aires didn’t scare him off. Together, they are unstoppable and indeed they never get caught. Their friendship deepens more and more. Andrés takes him to museums, galleries, theatres, anything that strikes his fancy. He takes pleasure in buying Martín suits and shirts and bowties for these occasions. Weirdly enough, he also seems to enjoy accompanying Martín on long strolls through neighbourhoods full of interesting architecture, or alongside an intelligently planned canal. They eat at Michelin-star restaurants, or at home, at whichever flat they’ve rented wherever they are. Sometimes, they head out to a bar and get drunk on wine, the fresh air and each other. Sometimes they stay in and read. On these evenings, sooner or later, someone will put on some music, and sometimes they will dance together.

Andrés, of course, is straight. His first divorce was the reason for the trip to Argentina back when they first met – that, and the need to lay low for a while after a series of high-profile heists. Martín knows and he always listened patiently to all the talk about the wonders of his girlfriend of the time, just like Andrés has easily accepted that Martín is gay.

Martín, of course, is in love with Andrés. He doesn’t remember when it happened, cannot pinpoint to any moment of spectacular clarity and self-awareness. It just is a fact of life. Andrés has lifted him from a meaningless, humdrum existence and shown him the beauty of life. He has made him forget all about the misery of his mother’s passing and his father’s anger. He changed Martín’s uncertain path - turned his heart into a compass needle, with himself as the true north. Unsurprisingly, Andrés has the same effect on the female population, so three of the girlfriends turn into wives, and then ex-wives. Martín suffers through the weddings and anaesthetises the pain with too much alcohol, and hates himself for being so weak. Sooner or later, the wives start longing for a settled life (whatever their idea of it is, Martín doesn’t want to know) and children. Some of them even dream of making an honest man out of Andrés, without the heists and the safehouses all over Europe – unimaginative dreams, copied so many times they have no definition or colour anymore, and they hold no beauty for Andrés. He returns to Martín, full of anguish at having been disappointed by love and fate once again. Martín picks up the pieces by doing all the little things Andrés likes – suggesting new restaurants to try, wearing some of the fancier clothes Andrés bought him around their current home, putting on a favourite song in the evening, sitting still for hours on end so Andrés can sketch him doing the most mundane of things. He cherishes the time he’s allowed to spend with Andrés, and silently pleads,

“Don’t leave.”

“Don’t abandon me again.”

_Non mi abbandonare mai._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remind me how unhappy I am  
> Far from your laws  
> How not to waste the time I have left  
> And never abandon me  
> Never abandon me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for the love:) I truly didn't expect to have over 100 hits after not even two days!
> 
> Here's the second chapter - their meeting and the development of their friendship from Andrés perspective.

_Ricordami come sono infelice_  
_Lontano dalle tue leggi_  
_Come non sprecare il tempo che mi rimane_

_E non abbandonarmi mai_  
_Non mi abbandonare mai_

Andrés has always revelled in the prospect of something unknown being just around the corner. Possibility and unpredictability are what makes life so enjoyable – that divine stroke of inspiration, ah, what would art be without it? Would there be any art in the first place? Of course, he likes to be the one in control, and it suits him more to be the unexpected blessing to some other person’s life. The one who upends the status quo, who changes things irrevocably. He never would have thought it could happen to him, or that he would welcome it.

He encounters the unexpected at the other end of the world, in a small bar in the Palermo _barrio_ of Buenos Aires. Why Argentina, of all places? _Carne al asador_ and _mate_ are a little too pedestrian for his tastes, too unrefined, just as he has no desire to go on an introspective trip through the _pampas_ of Patagonia. His delicate sensibilities notwithstanding, his last string of heists was high-profile, and he may have gotten carried away with establishing the artistic flair of his _modus operandi_. The result is a search warrant from Europol – not in his name, thank God, but too accurate entirely. Add to that the fact that, after the rose-tinted glasses came off, his wife didn’t much like the itinerant lifestyle of a thief (she made off with a stockbroker, oh the irony)…well, a change of scenery was in order. Buenos Aires is big and has a rich European heritage as well as the familiar comforts of culture and sophistication, and yet it is still foreign enough for him not to get bored.

He settles into a quaint little hotel in the middle of January, and amuses himself by browsing the streets (and art galleries) for a couple of days. The new year has just begun, and the _porteños_ are still excited by the prospect of a new year and the summer in the southern hemisphere. Summers in Buenos Aires also mean thunderstorms, though, and more often than not Andrés finds his activities cut short by torrential rainfall and ominously flickering lightbulbs. On one such evening, he ducks into a little neighbourhood bar that already has the candles out. Soft music and a sizeable crowd promise good entertainment, and the atmosphere inside is so easy and unhurried that he simply orders a bottle of Malbec and takes out his sketchbook. His eyes roam the bar, and that’s when he spots him – sat at the bar, body angled toward the small dancefloor and swaying softly to the beat of the tango music. He has an atrocious dress sense: Washed-out jeans, an oversized grey sweater and scuffed leather boots are not a good look on _anyone._ However, his tousled dark hair and the absent-minded expression on his face are strangely charming. If anything, Andrés appreciates a man who isn’t too macho to enjoy excellent music… His musings are interrupted by loud, raucous laughter, and his gaze jolts away from the stranger and towards some other fellow pushing his way through the crowd, _utterly_ disturbing the easy atmosphere. The lout appears to be here with friends and they are clearly well into their cups already, as they show no sign of settling down. Andrés decides it’s time to exercise his manual dexterity a little – misplacing his wallet is certainly the least this man deserves for annoying everybody!

It's ridiculously easy to slip a hand into the man’s pocket, as drunk as he is, and it would be perfect handiwork, if not for the prickling in his neck, the alarm bells, that _someone saw._ Andrés casually straightens, actually happy that his target spilled beer over him because it gives him an excuse to pat the man and pat himself in a show of reassurance and “oh please, don’t worry, it was only my third-best shirt”, and scans his surroundings and _mierda,_ he meets the eyes of Mr Easy Hips at the bar. Well. That is an unforeseen complication. Andrés has no desire to get thrown out in the rain, or, even less appealing, spend time in prison. The stranger at the bar doesn’t move however, slightly widened eyes only showing surprise instead of alarm, so Andrés decides he can head back to his table.

They properly encounter each other in the men’s room, about half an hour later . Later, Andrés thinks it almost laughable, it’s just so _cliché_ and entirely inelegant to meet someone who will change your life next to a sink, but alas, that’s how it happened. They stand side to side, and Andrés cannot help but feel acutely aware that _something_ is bound to happen, he doesn’t know why, usually he is in complete control of the situation and his surroundings, and then… “So, do you always pick other people’s pockets to cover your tab?” It’s cheeky, entirely unaccusatory, and direct. Andrés decides he likes this man’s approach and replies, “no, only when said other people are rude and have ruined my clothes.”

They banter back and forth for a little while drying their hands and Andrés decides this fellow is interesting enough to make a tolerable conversation partner for the rest of the night. He wasn’t boring and narrow-minded enough to call the police on him, and seems reasonably intelligent, which is more than he can say about everybody else he has encountered in Buenos Aires so far. He holds the door to the main room open for them, and then turns to his new acquaintance and says, “would you like to continue this little chat at my table? I’m Andrés, by the way.” The man smiles – Andrés can see one of his front teeth is a little chipped – and nods. “Yes, of course, it would be a pleasure. I’m Martín”. They pick up more drinks, wine for Andrés and beer for Martín, and sit down in the corner booth. A little chat turns into the whole evening. Andrés discovers that Martín is an engineer with a keen intellect, that he has considerable skills of observation that- paired with a passion for logic and numbers – makes it difficult to get anything past him, and that his sense of humour is truly _wicked._ Also, he seems bored with his life, ready for some excitement, which is why Andrés asks him whether he would be willing to show him some more of Buenos Aires. “I have already seen the _Jardín Botanico_ , the _Teatro Colón_ , I’ve been to the _Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes_ , but there must be more? What are your favourite places? I want to see the city through the eyes of a _porteño.”_ Martín grins slightly, but cautions him. “Well, I didn’t grow up on paintings and the opera, so you might not like my point of view. Not everything is pretty here.” Andrés shrugs. “Like I said, I’ve already seen the things everybody finds pretty. Now, I want to dig deeper. Show me something hidden from all other eyes, Martín, something new and interesting.” Their eyes meet, and hold each other’s gaze, and Martín nods. “Alright. Hidden and interesting, that I can do.”

True to his word, Martín picks him up the next day, and they go on a tour of the _arrabales,_ the poor neighbourhoods where tango actually developed. He keeps up a running commentary about the history of the places they see as well as their current state, peppered with details about construction, living conditions, sewer systems, describing the area like a civil engineer would see it. It certainly is unusual, but Andrés doesn’t mind. He’s learning lots of new things, and Martín is pleasant company not only in a half-lit bar, but also in daylight. The day after that, they tour the _Recoleta_ graveyard, avoiding the crowds around Eva Perón’s burial site, only returning at dusk, because as Martín says, the soft light of the setting sun over the city makes even the tritest things look lovely. He’s right.

The days turn into weeks, and before long a month has passed. They see each other every day. Sometimes just for a meal, because there is still that day job that Martín has to do, but if the number of days he spends completely with Andrés are any indication, he’s either accumulated a lot of vacation days or is simply skiving off. During the week, they walk around the city restlessly, always eating somewhere new, no day like the one before. On the weekends, they venture out of the centre and into the outskirts of the metropolitan area, so they can breathe in fresh air. Andrés keeps waiting for that moment when he’s had enough, when Martín starts to annoy him, because that’s what it’s always been like for him. He could never stand people very long, not even his wife, his brother being the only exception. And Martín, apparently. The moment never comes and one month turns into two and still they meet up daily. Eventually, though, he longs to go back to Europe, because that is where his heart will always lie, in the rich history of every nook and cranny – and the rich cities which give him so many delicious options to ply his trade. The conundrum is, though, that he’s loath to part with Martín, so in the end he does the most natural thing in the world and asks his friend to accompany him. They’ve ended up at _Vuela El Pez_ again, where they first met, and Martín looks at him disbelievingly. “What? Andrés, I-”, he begins, no doubt wanting to explain why can’t just up and leave to the Old Continent. But Andrés has anticipated this, and he’s come to know Martín _so well_ , he knows that there is nothing here for his friend. No family, no friends that he would truly miss, and he has already been fed up by the drudgery in a job that doesn’t challenge him. Andrés slides the envelope with the plane ticket across the table and gestures for Martín to open it. “You said you’ve never left Buenos Aires. There is no better time like the now for a little traveling, no? After all we’ve been going on little adventures for weeks now, haven’t we? Just _think_ of all the art out there, Martín. Your kind of art, too! The old viaducts in Rome, the _ponte veccio_ in Florence, the _bosco_ _verticale_ in Milan… There is so much beauty out there, _cariño_.” It takes no more than this, a reminder of the memories they’ve made together in the past weeks, and a promise of more to come. A week later, Andrés returns home to Madrid, with Martín by his side, ready to take on the _world_.

Over the next decade, they travel the entirety of Europe together, lingering where they like it best. Andrés enjoys showing Martín the finer things in life – he takes him to the theatre, to the opera, and buys him bespoke suits and little trinkets here and there. In turn, Martín makes him discover the art in the principles of engineering, making him understand that there is beauty in floor plans too – it’s just that the lines are straighter than in a Renaissance painting. Andrés finds Martín’s presence and his knowledge of numbers and science calming and exhilarating at the same time, and he often asks his opinion on how best to get into this building or that. It doesn’t take long for them to become business partners as well as best friends, and together they are _unstoppable._ That night they steal the diamonds in Paris, Andrés also steals an engagement for his current girlfriend – and a watch he gives to Martín for his birthday.

His engineer’s essential role in Andrés’ life only increases after each fling he’s had ends, after wife number two becomes ex-wife number two. And then after the third divorce, and the fourth. Andrés doesn’t know why his romances always turn sour, he doesn’t understand why sooner or later his wives always turn out to be uninspiring, boring him to death with ideas about children, and a calm life. Martín is always there, a constant, a friend who will pick up the pieces of yet another happily-ever-after shattered to pieces, who will put him back together and will encourage him to rediscover happiness and beauty. Together, they weather the deepest depressions and experience the fiercest joy.

Of course, at some point there will always be a new pretty face to reel Andrés in. Martín scoffs every single time, mumbling something like _here we go again_ under his breath, but Andrés forgives him. He’s completely fine with Martín being gay, and it’s always amusing to observe his antics on a dancefloor and the hook-ups – sometimes Andrés will even wingman and accompany his friend to a gay bar. If Martín is bitter about Andrés’ women, well, it must be because his hook-ups don’t last, something Andrés is really quite glad about, because none of the men are remotely up to the standard Martín deserves, they’re simply too boring, too sleazy, too domestic. Simply not good enough. As his best friend, Andrés tries to fill the void as best he can, after all Martín is his soulmate, he’s sure of that. Andrés gives him everything he can. He lets Martín in and allows him to truly share his life, much more than anybody else was allowed except for his _hermanito._ He allows him to see his emotions. The happiness, the anger, the sadness, the melancholy when he sometimes gets overwhelmed in the face of the universe’s greatness and his own desire to leave a mark. When they lie in the grass or sit on a rooftop terrace somewhere, close to each other, and stare up at the night sky…when Andrés is struck by the magnificence of it all, how things can be both transitory and everlasting at the same time, he will fall silent, and steal a glance at Martín, and realise that the moment they are in, too, will pass, and he will think,

“Don’t leave.”

“Don’t ever leave.”

_Non mi abbandonare mai._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me back to the higher areas  
> In one of your quiet realms  
> It is time to leave this cycle of lives
> 
> And never abandon me  
>  _Never abandon me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damas y caballeros, the third (and last) chapter!
> 
> Not going to lie, this was a difficult one, because both Martín and Andrés have their parts, and I wanted them to be more connected this time... to drive the heartbreak home even more, whoops. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos and every single hit, they've been super encouraging! It's been a pleasure writing this story, and I hope you like the way it ends :)

**Martín** :

_Perché la pace che ho sentito in certi monasteri_  
_O la vibrante intesa di tutti i sensi in festa_  
_Sono solo l'ombra della luce_

Sergio has never understood art, whether on canvas or on plotting paper.

That much was painfully obvious, right from the moment they first met, roughly ten years after Martín first left Argentina. Ten years he’s been by Andrés’ side, through celestial highs and hellish lows, so he knows that Andrés has a brother. He knows that his name is Sergio, that he’s younger and actually a half-brother by another father, and that the brothers only met when Andrés had been well into his teens already. He knows enough about Sergio to think that even though he appears to be an oddball, he might come to like him.

Ten years by Andrés side also means he’s been best man at three more weddings, and he’s sure his heart is so broken by now that you probably wouldn’t recognise it under a microscope. It’s only being held together by the strings of Andrés’ friendship and affection, given to him as little moments here and there, or – and these are the blissful times, the ones Martín’s whole existence revolves around – Andrés full and undivided attention whenever there’s no woman in the picture.

This is why he came up with _the plan._ Whenever they are planning a heist, not even the woman of the hour can distract Andrés. He spends every waking hour with Martín (and his sleeping hours too, because they often collapse on the same bed when the exhaustion catches up on them), and Martín, with a broken heart and bruised soul, decides he’ll devise one plan to dwarf everything that came before, his _magnum opus,_ his grand declaration of love and devotion, even though the object of his every hope and dream probably won’t realise.

Quite fittingly for the monumental undertaking he has in mind, they’ve moved into an old monastery in the hills around Florence. Andrés adores the city itself, spends hours walking through the _Uffizi,_ or painting outside their home, rambling about light and different textures of green. Martín loves the quiet of the place, the serene atmosphere amplified by the monks’ chants on the other side of the building, by the candles they light when night falls. They spend more time together here than ever before, and Martín really feels like they have created a home for the both of them here – not like their temporary lodgings before, not even like Palermo, where he keeps a flat (just in case Andrés goes off with another silly strumpet). Their senses are attuned, alight in a vibrant understanding between two soulmates, and Martín feels like he could be forever content here, being the Andrés’ constant shadow who only makes the man’s light shine brighter.

Together in their little bubble, they dream up the most awe-inspiring plan, so beautiful in its colours and hues that it’s almost blasphemy. It is so complex, however, that they have no hope of executing it alone, just the two of them. Andrés suggests his brother, naturally, and for want of a better option, Martín agrees. He’s actually looking forward to meeting the family, in a manner of speaking, and at first he isn’t disappointed. Sergio is awkward and bespectacled, ridiculously lacking _any_ social graces, but he is also undoubtedly intelligent – a sharp, logical mind, actually more like Martín in his way of thinking than Andrés. They explain their plan, and Sergio is sceptical, but nevertheless decides to stay with them for the time being and flesh it out some more. Everything seems to be going well, and that’s when Martín should have known it was too good to be true.

Days turn into weeks and Sergio’s presence is no longer interesting and amusing. He spends a lot of time whispering to Andrés and throwing him meaningful looks, and Martín feels under constant surveillance. The _Banco de Espa_ _ñ_ _a_ plan is proceeding nicely, Sergio still hasn’t been won over entirely, and he has increasingly started to bring up his own idea of printing money at the _Fabrica Nacional de Moneda y Timbre,_ something to do with his father. Printing stuff on paper is pedestrian compared to _melting 700 tonnes of gold_ , Martín says as much, and manages to make Andrés forget about Sergio’s idea, or so he thinks.

How stupid of him. To believe his word against Sergio’s would carry enough weight. To ignore the family ties between the two brothers, just because he never had anything similar. Because the only person he would ever lay everything on the line for was not his blood relation, but his soulmate.

_Tú y yo, somos almas gemelas._

Sergio doesn’t understand what they are to each other, his mind is too linear to consider the possibility of a love that is simultaneously unrequited _and_ reciprocated – Martín is denied physical fulfilment, but Andrés loves him in every other way, letting him share his life so _intimately._ _Soulmate_ , this is really the only description that comes close. Martín will never understand why Sergio commits sacrilege, why he spells out his feelings to Andrés in the most mundane and insufficient way…out of ambition and a feverish desire to see his own plan come to fruition, out of jealousy because nobody has ever been as close to Andrés as Martín, but it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

Andrés gives him everything he ever wanted and destroys him in a way he never thought possible, delivering Heaven and Hell with the brush of his lips. Martín will think about these moments in the chapel over and over again, dragging the memory over his soul like a razorblade over his arm. The worst is that he _believes_ Andrés’s, at least 99% of them.

_Te quiero, Martín._

_Con ninguna de eses mujeres he sentido ni remotamente algo semejante a lo que me pasa contigo._

_Es imposible._

No.

Not impossible.

Never that.

** Andrés **

_Perché le gioie del più profondo affetto_  
_O dei più lievi aneliti del cuore_  
_Sono solo l'ombra della luce_

Sergio has always been focused on executing his late father’s plan and entirely unwilling to follow any other path. It’s pedestrian compared to _melting gold, together,_ but Andrés has always loved his _hermanito_ , and besides his damn illness is eating away his muscles, a little more each day. Soon, the Retroxil won’t alleviate the symptoms anymore, and he is running out of valuable time to make his mark on the world. Such is the logic that has led him here, to the _Fabrica Nacional de Moneda y Timbre,_ at least according to the insight into his mind that the allows the others of the gang.

What he feels inside, though, is something else entirely. A convoluted mess of love, both platonic and romantic, guilt, and a fear of death that drives him to milk the last years of his life of every ounce of pleasure, every drop of adrenaline he can. It drove him to make two mistakes.

He doesn’t regret turning to Sergio, never. Because of the love he has for him as his little brother, his only family, he would never have excluded him, and what’s more, robbing the _Banco de Espa_ _ñ_ _a_ was always too monumental an undertaking for just two people, no matter how brilliant. Including Sergio was never up for discussion. Andrés underestimated his brother’s own determination, though. He hoped his _hermanito_ would help him and Martín to finish their plan and to recruit whoever was necessary, and get a share of the gold in return. He didn’t expect Sergio to be so insistent, so worried, to pressure him to abandon the plan. He also didn’t expect him to see _Martín_ as a danger.

Martín, his best friend, his soulmate…ten years of travelling and countless heists deepened their bond to such an extent that Andrés sometimes really believed they were one soul inhabiting two bodies. Martín, who was his own light next to Andrés, the only person Andrés allowed to shine and for whom he would step back occasionally and be the shadow to so much radiance. They complemented and balanced each other so perfectly, and how could this ever be a danger to the plan? Andrés knows that other people draw their strength, their _raison d’être,_ from someone else, usually a partner. It’s mostly an abstract concept for him, because his wives never made him feel like that, but he remembers the sense of _homecoming,_ whenever Martín was near.

_Está enamorado de ti._

Initially, he scoffed at Sergio’s words. In love, it seems so small and inconsequential a term – after all, didn’t he love each of his girlfriends and wives? And yet it never lasted, unlike his bond with Martín, so how could the sentiments be the same? But Sergio wouldn’t let up. He kept pressuring him, insisting that Martín could have no part in the clockwork precision of the heist at the _Fabrica._ Probing him to review Martín’s actions in his mind, the soft flirting, the passionate ramblings about their plan, the stubborn affirmations that it would work (that _he would solve the problem, just let me work on it a little longer, Andrés)._

Andrés returned home, to the monastery, and with a few well-placed sentences he opened up the one conversation him and Martín never had: The one about what connected them. In ten years, they had called each other _querido, cari_ _ño,_ all sorts of endearments, and meant every single one, but when questioned by others it always centered around _amigo…_ and all the time they were aware that just how they were unique in their personalities and choices of profession, their bond too exceeded all common definitions.

The second their lips brushed, he knew the truth. It was exactly like Sergio had predicted and at the same time nothing like it. Martín loved him, and he – he finally felt that mad yearning for someone, with _every fibre in his body_ , rather than being guided by a pre-formed notion of romance, and the chivalrous aesthetic of courting. This wasn’t chivalry, it was unbridled devotion, it was all the matter in the universe colliding to create a big bang, it was everything…and it was the wrong time.

Shaken to his core by kissing Martín, Andrés realised that he couldn’t follow the siren song. He couldn’t be with Martín only to die three years after, just as he couldn’t do both heists, with the people who meant the most to him. Something had to give. In that moment, he made his second mistake.

_Es imposible._

_Márchate y cúrate la herida._

Martín, his logical engineer. _Ningún sentimiento,_ wasn’t that what he told Sergio? How stupid of him. His engineer had a mind for numbers, but he _felt,_ he felt so deeply, and only for Andrés – and he would get hurt. Whether by Sergio’s refusal to include him in his plans or by Andrés death in three years, it didn’t matter. And so Andrés decided to rip off the band aid, in a manner of speaking. Leave now, rather than later, when Martín could still feel their kiss on his lips and Andrés’ confession of love still rang out in the air between them.

Bullets are whizzing past Andrés, and he’s known the minute the police entered the _Fabrica_ that they wouldn’t make it out together. Sergio’s plan was meticulously planned out, but not an original, more a forgery, and there were oversights, tell-tale wrong strokes of the brush. Rule Number One, that blasted rule to exclude all personal relationships…it never worked, not even when they were still in Toledo, and two of their own have died as a result. He _left Martín,_ when they should’ve continued together. Now he’ll never see him again, and this certainty also brings the realisation of what exactly he’s done to his soulmate by leaving him – alone and crying, leaning against a wall because his legs would no longer support him. It wasn’t salvation, no, even though that was his intention. He broke them both, leaving Martín devastated when all he wanted was to keep him free from harm. Now, everything is too late. He knows he will soon run out of ammunition. All that is left is one last wish, a fervent supplication, that Martín will hold Andrés’ last words to him close to his heart. As close as Andrés himself.

_El tiempo nos volvera á juntar._

_Take me back to the higher areas_

_In one of your quiet realms_

_It is time to leave this cycle of lives_

_And never abandon me_

_Never abandon me_

_Non mi abbandonare mai._


End file.
